


Easing the Pain

by Blueroses_23, OKami_hu



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Angel Healing, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Innocent (Good Omens), Between Episodes, Biting, Burned Feet, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Feelings Realization, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Miracles, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Sexy, Short One Shot, Soft Boys, catching feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueroses_23/pseuds/Blueroses_23, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu
Summary: A soft but steamy 'between the scenes' scenario where Aziraphale tends to Crowley's injuries in the aftermath of the church bombing/Nazi rescue.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 158
Collections: Gather Ye Sinners for GOmens RP Collection





	Easing the Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Okami_hu for writing this story with me!  
> (They wrote for Crowley, I wrote for Aziraphale, and we both edited!)

Shadows of trees and road signs passed over Aziraphale's lap as the Bentley cruised down the highway. The moon was high and bright, the stars twinkling, yet he barely noticed. His gaze was unfocused, heart beating rapidly in his chest. 

Sitting in the lovely car with Crowley in the driver’s seat was a familiar setting, and yet everything felt different. About until twenty minutes ago, the angel had been on a mission, working to bust a Nazi spy ring, only to have it go terribly pear-shaped. It was only thanks to the unexpected interference of a certain occult being that he'd made it out of that church in one piece (though the same could not be said for the church, or the conniving humans inside it). And now, a kaleidoscope of emotions was swirling in his body - so many feelings, so many revelations, so many things he didn't understand.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to voice any of them. 

"Are you certain that Soho will be safe from air raids tonight?" was all that left his mouth.

“Yep. I have reliable sources. Don’t worry.” Crowley kept his eyes on the road, which was kind of unusual. He had always been a reckless driver, paying more attention to whoever was riding with him than to the streets. Right then, however, he was silent, focused, and driving at an almost reasonable speed, because some streets were still covered by rubble and not even a miracle could’ve saved them at the usual breakneck tempo.

When they got into the car, Crowley still had a smug little smile playing about his lips but it vanished fast. As the Bentley zipped down the streets, his shoulders tensed up and his knuckles turned white from his death grip on the steering wheel. Sweat began to bead on his temple - a rare sight on the ever-impeccable demon! 

It was strange enough to be driving along at a halfway-normal speed (rather than attempting to break the sound barrier), but it was even more strange to see Crowley tight-lipped and actually _sweating_. Crowley hated sweating and rarely had to do so on account of his beanpole physique... and yet here he was. 

Aziraphale became increasingly concerned as ripples of demonic distress grew stronger with every passing mile. 

He also knew that asking about it directly would accomplish nothing.

"Crowley," he finally ventured to say, in a quiet tone. "It's rather embarrassing, but I'm feeling a trifle light-headed after everything that's happened. Could we, perhaps, pull over for a moment and get a breath of fresh air?"

The demon’s full attention was immediately on him. It was hard to tell with the shades on, but judging by his posture, his gentle frown and a few other minute signs, Crowley was _concerned_. 

“Sure, sure, good idea, let me find a spot.”

The Bentley slowed and eventually came to rest by the corner of a small park. The surrounding area was undamaged; nothing indicated that a war was going on aside from the very distant wail of the air raid sirens and the darkness. London was under a blackout. 

Crowley relinquished the wheel and took a deep breath, his lips twisting as if in pain.

“There we go.” He turned toward Aziraphale, gesturing for the door. “Guess it was a bit of a shock, this double agent business. Take as long as you need.” He flashed a half-smile at the angel. “Satan knows I’d love to comment but I won’t. Are you alright, aside from the lightheadedness?”

The sudden chattiness wasn’t entirely out of place; he was known to cover up distress with talking. 

A warm glow spread through the angel's chest when, without question or quip, Crowley found them a safe place to stop and slowly pulled over. Crowley always looked after him, didn't he? Whenever he was in trouble, whenever he was lost, or in pain, or even just lonely, Crowley was there. Had he really not noticed before?

"Ah... As well as can be expected, I suppose, thank you" he sighed, leaning back in the seat, the leather bag shifting in his lap. 

Then he sat up and fixed his gaze on the serpent, blue eyes peering at the yellow ones behind those shades. 

"But, my dear fellow, I must make a comment of my own: you don't look well. You're pale and sweating, like you're in some kind of pain. Were you hurt in the church? I was quite certain my miracle protected us, but perhaps I missed a spot?"

Crowley had tensed up again. He leaned back in his seat and rolled the window down an inch; he took a deep breath from the cold air that seeped inside.

"M’fine," he grumbled. "Your miracle worked just fine, don't worry." He hesitated. "It's just- Y'know, demons and churches, we don't get along that famously. Consecrated ground and all. But give me a few days and a drink, and I'll be right as rain." He took another breath and smiled. "It's been a while since you last fussed over me. It's… rather endearing."

The angel flushed at the 'endearing' remark, but would not be distracted. Then realization hit him. "Your feet!" he gasped. " You've scorched your feet! Ohh- Oh, you poor thing..."

_Of course he did! If you'd taken five seconds to think it over, you'd remember him jitterbugging about in that church, you numpty. And he can't heal it with a miracle because it's holy damage._

He began to wring his hands, voice becoming more fretful. "Crowley, you mustn't drive in that condition, not a moment longer! Let me... ohh..." 

Aziraphale himself couldn't drive, and he felt rather useless right then. "... oh! A medical kit! Surely you have one in the car? Let me bandage your feet, at least."

The demon squinted. "What the Heaven would I need a medical kit for? Also, I'd be even less fit for driving with bandaged feet. I do appreciate the concern but I'm going to be okay. Just- let me in your shop for a breather and invite me for a drink. That's all I need, really. I've had it worse." He grinned. "Oh, I've had much worse. Stop fretting, it'd take a lot more to back me into a corner." 

He pulled the window back up and grabbed the wheel. "Let's go, shall we? Someone might get nervous if they spot us, few drive in the dark."

Still, he winced when he stepped on the pedals. No matter how he tried to downplay it, Crowley was clearly in bad shape. 

"Tsk, honestly," Aziraphale grumbled, muttering under his breath about how practical it was to carry a medical kit in one's car trunk for emergencies. _Stop fretting_ , the demon said, like he was fussing over a missing button on his favorite vest and not the dire injury of someone impor-- _Let's just stop right there._

Nevertheless, both man-shaped beings remained quiet for the remainder of the drive, and the angel welcomed the sight of his bookshop as the Bentley parked out front. "Ahh, finally," he sighed happily, getting out of the car. Leaving his nest wasn't something he enjoyed doing for long. "Do come in, dear boy. I think a rest and a glass of whiskey would do you good." And it was really the least he could offer in return.

"You're right about that, on both accounts," Crowley nodded and slipped out, only to stop with a long hiss, clutching the Bentley's roof. When he finally gathered the strength to walk, he was limping. 

"Do you think you could get by for a while without getting into trouble? A few months maybe? Sleeping ssounds like a ssplendid idea. And make it two glasssess." He rarely lapsed back into his serpentine accent; it happened most often when he was overwhelmed. 

"Ooh, it's going to be a joyride back to Mayfair. Thank Ssssatan it's close. Ow, ow, ow , why did it have to be a church, honestly..." 

Aziraphale flushed, mostly at the remark about staying out of trouble. It really was his fault that Crowley was hurt, wasn't it? Because he'd been too naive and gullible, tricked into a dangerous situation and lured into the one possible place that could harm a demon. 

Without a word, the angel unlocked the shop and ushered his friend inside. The interior was warm and cozy, the perfect temperature to thaw the bones on a cold London night. The record player shuffled, automatically playing a soft, classical tune. Aziraphale set his Gladstone aside for now, hung up his coat and hat, and went to fetch his crystal whiskey decanter and two matching glasses. Crowley, he knew, would be waiting for him in the study.

The demon indeed shuffled over to the comfy couch and collapsed on it with a bitten-off moan. It wasn't that he was a wimp, really - once you’ve taken a dip in a burning sulfur pit, most pain was laughable - but this was holy damage and Crowley was half-convinced that it was getting steadily worse, as if embers still glowed in his flesh, eating their way deeper and deeper.

It was probably not the case, but even tough, cool demons were allowed to be miserable once in a while. He arranged himself into a mostly proper sitting position, sighing in relief as pressure was taken off his soles and the agony ceased to a bearable level. The drive back to his house was still going to be a nightmare but a well-stocked liquor cabinet and several weeks of sleep would take off the edge. 

Also, the fussing, when it's not crossed the line into 'annoying', is kind of nice.

Crowley smiled to himself. The angel’s care, his friendly affections, never failed to brighten the serpent's mood.

He listened to the quiet bustling and relaxed. All was well now. There were a few less Nazis in the world, the angel’s precious books were safe, and most importantly, Aziraphale himself was safe. Crowley briefly closed his eyes as his heart felt like swelling and clenching at the same time; if anything had happened to that stupid little angel, he- It was better not to think of what he would’ve done.

As he prepared the drinks, Aziraphale was mulling over potential solutions. Crowley had received a celestial injury, so a demonic miracle wouldn't do a thing for its healing. Humanity's medicines and remedies would offer _some_ relief, but they would be a nuisance and it would be a few weeks before the burns were better... and there would likely be scars. So that left an angelic miracle - a holy cure for a holy ailment. It was plausible, but frankly, he wasn't sure how one of his miracles would interact with a demon's body... and Crowley was likely to refuse his help, anyways.

Entering the study, he handed his friend one of the whiskey glasses and then settled into his desk chair. 

"Crowley," he said nervously. "Would you at least let me remove your socks and shoes, while you're here? I- I remember reading that burns and such need fresh air, to prevent infection."

The demon snorted. “Infections, I can keep off my corporation. I’m not entirely helpless. Though…” He downed his drink in one gulp, briefly closing his eyes against the alcohol’s fierce but welcomed burn. “I guess that’d help, at least momentarily… and I should see how bad it is.” He leaned forward, to unlace his shoes while he held the glass out. 

“The whiskey’s pretty good. Another, please? Y’know- I might actually be able to fix the outward burns and that’d lessen the pain, but I’ve seen demons wounded by holy weapons before. Even if the injury doesn’t show, the effect lingers.” He laughed a little. “Could we go back to prisons and battlefields? It’s easier when you only have to worry about someone chopping your head off.”

Crowley was putting up a good front and blustering, as usual, but the angel could see the tension lines between his eyebrows and around his mouth. Carefully, he refilled the offered glass and then drained his own.

The mention of the Bastille only stirred up his emotions further. Crowley was always there for him, always appearing when least expected but most needed. And now, once again, it was Aziraphale's fault that Crowley was suffering, and he felt awful about it. (And he still didn't know how to handle the wave of emotion that swept over him when the demon revealed the case of books.) He had to do something to even the score, and to show his gratitude. Swallowing, Aziraphale knelt down and gently grasped the demon's ankle to lift the foot and rest it on his knee. 

"Let me." His voice was soft but insistent as he tugged at the laces, loosening them so the shoe could be removed.

Crowley stilled. The angel on his knees in front of him was something he often dreamed of - not quite like this, but he quickly decided that he would gladly take whatever life offered.

“Um. Okay.” He shifted a little in his seat, glad for the low lighting that hid his blush. 

Aziraphale’s hands were warm and steady, comforting - it was a shame that they only really touched each other, aside from the pages of books. There were so many better options, after all…

Crowley shuddered, pushing the alluring images from his mind. Now was not the time for them. Aziraphale was likely not just worried, but feeling guilty as well and blaming himself for the injuries… Which was ridiculous, but Crowley had known him for six millennia, and the angel tended to take everything to heart.

“You’re not beating yourself up about this, right?” the demon asked, cocking a brow. “If you’re fretting over me like this because you think it’s your fault, stop."

"It _is_ my fault," the angel sighed, looking remorseful. "I mean, _really_ , after all these millennia, you'd think I'd be better at noticing when the people around me are up to no good. But no, I let that dreadful woman trick me, let her convince me that I could make a real difference in the war, and got myself into yet another situation that anyone with common sense should've seen coming. And thanks to that, you were put in a position that meant you had to harm yourself if you wanted to help me." 

His hands worked while he spoke, sliding the dapper shoes and silky socks off one by one. 

Lifting the foot in hand, Aziraphale inspected the sole and winced. The burns weren't awful, but the flesh was blistered and swollen. How Crowley had managed to drive at all was beyond him. A brief wave of his hand brought a bowl of water and a soft cloth to his side, which he used to carefully bathe the other's feet, clearing away any lingering sweat and dirt.

Crowley really wanted to snap, dismiss the self-accusation and tell the angel to stop belittling himself but- There was water and the gentlest touches on his abused feet and- Something raced through Crowley, a sharp flicker of some very complicated emotion. Water and Aziraphale together... that was alarming. He was an angel after all, able to bless water with a wave of his hand... but he wouldn’t, oh, of course he wouldn’t. He was washing a sinner’s feet instead. Because he was different. Because he was special.

The demon emptied his glass, then carefully pulled his shades off and placed them aside. Aziraphale deserved as much. He took a deep, shuddering breath and shook his head. 

“Don’t blame yourself. You were presented with the opportunity to do good and you took it. You trust people; and you didn’t have a reason to suspect that she had ulterior motives. The church was only an unfortunate circumstance. It wasn’t pleasant, but I’ll live and you're here, unharmed. It’s not that you needed me to protect you. Their guns could have miraculously failed or something. I just- removed the threat in a more drastic and permanent way. It’s not your fault. I don’t want you to feel like it is.”

Aziraphale's mouth quirked into the first smile since the church. Yes, the guns could have misfired, or the spies could have all mysteriously fainted or gone mad, but no, it just _had_ to be a rerouted bomber plane that saved the day. As always, Crowley had an innate flair for the dramatic. 

And yet, he'd been kind enough to remember the angel's beloved books, when the angel himself had been too preoccupied to do so. 

Kind enough to come for him in the first place. 

The convoluted cocktail of feelings was stirring in Aziraphale's chest again as he kept washing, washing, washing those burned feet with utmost care. 

"If you say so," he eventually said, quietly. "Then I'll try to believe you." 

The demon's feet were about as clean as he could get them, and Aziraphale set the cloth back into the bowl. 

"Crowley, I was thinking... it's not fatal for an occult being to be healed by celestial power, is it? Surely not the most comfortable, of course, but it wouldn't kill you. Yes?"

“I honestly don’t know,” Crowley shrugged, helpless. “There’s no precedent that I know of, but they _do_ say that the only thing that could kill a demon is holy water- And perhaps blessed weapons buuut, I think they might just cause discorporation, for obvious reasons. I suppose, it’s the intention that counts? Holy water is made by asking for God’s blessing, and consecration essentially means dedicating something or someone to God, and Their power is... y’know, not really beneficial for a demon. But if you’re using your own power- which, granted, was given to you by God, but hopefully you sort of... filter it? I wager Heaven would be a little more pissed about your frivolous miracles if you directly channeled God’s power into them.” 

His fingers curled into the blanket thrown over the couch. “Try it. Just a little, and if it hurts, I’ll… try not to kick you in the nose but I apologize in advance if that happens.” He flashed Aziraphale a sheepish grin.

Aziraphale was relieved that Crowley understood what he was really asking, and that he wasn't putting up a fight. It might've just been the light, but the angel could've sworn he saw a rosy hue on those angular cheekbones. Was Crowley blushing just from having his feet touched? Could it... Could this knotted mess of feelings actually be mutual? 

Truth be told, if Crowley accidentally kicked him, it would be well-deserved. He nodded and shifted into a more comfortable sitting position, legs curled to the side. A gentle, careful administration of divine power to heal a demon... yes, his intentions must be clear: to heal, not to harm. Not Crowley. Never Crowley. Swallowing, he lifted the demon's left foot and pressed a kiss infused with healing power to the big toe.

The demon tensed and made a noise, one that was recognizable as a sound of distress, but not _dire_ distress - more along the lines of embarrassment, really. He'd expected a lot of things - pain or at least an ache, a tickling sensation, coldness, heat - but not this, not the intense wave of pure pleasure that rushed up his leg.

It was certainly not a side effect of the healing. His deprived nature was to blame. Aziraphale would have never done that on purpose. If he even knew what sexual pleasure was.

His mind was filling up with images again and Crowley closed his eyes, biting his lower lip. Underneath the beginning of arousal, he could feel that the pain lessened a breath, so the healing was working and it’s not that he suffered but it was going to be hard to conceal the erection that was going to inevitably emerge. Well, he could switch Efforts, or completely dismiss it though… he didn’t really want to.

The fact that Aziraphale was being so kind and gentle and presently in a submissive position was something that Crowley desperately wanted to enjoy. But he couldn’t, could he? Aziraphale would notice and he’d be embarrassed, perhaps even a little angry because he was pure and chaste and so very, very oblivious.

Aziraphale heard the little noise, but also noticed that Crowley wasn't pulling away... didn't even jerk all that much. And the burn on that toe was gone, the skin returned to normal shape and color. Thank goodness! That meant he could continue. 

Contrary to Crowley's beliefs, the angel was entirely aware of his own submissive stance, of how the dynamic shifted between them as soon as his knees touched the floor. However, he was trying not to think about _that_ , because there were injuries to heal. Each of the toes were kissed, and then he tilted his head and left a trail of healing along the arch and down to the heel, drawing away the heat and pain with every brush of his lips.

It all made Crowley want to cry, from relief, joy and also frustration. The cock he was hesitant to miracle away swelled faster than ever before. He loved every second of the treatment and he simultaneously wanted the ground to swallow him. Aziraphale was going to notice. He was going see that erection and hate the vile demon, throw him out, berate him for his disgusting mind. He was going to be offended and _oh Satan, please, please don’t stop, you aren’t even doing anything remotely sexual to me and I’ve never been so aroused in my extremely long life, oh angel, Aziraphale, Aziraphale, please…!_

He was going to come like this, very soon, and lose the angel’s friendship, and then he was going to walk into the nearest church, sit on the floor, and wait until his corporation burned to ash.

Crowley was getting dizzy. What was that funny term the guys in the US military used nowadays? Aah, SNAFU. Status Nominal: All Fucked Up. A highly applicable abbreviation.

By the time the left foot was entirely healed, the angel was panting softly. There was so much feeling rolling off the demon that it filled the entire room, thick and cloying like incense. There was regret, there was arousal, there was fear, there was _yearning_ , such powerful yearning as he'd never felt before. Where had it all been hiding?! Blue eyes flicked up to watch the demon's face and saw the rising bulge in those crisp suit trousers, and then he fully understood: there was pleasure in this healing. Not the passive kind that one could appreciate casually, but the aggressive kind that demanded attention and dominated the senses... just from the angel's touches? 

He lowered the doctored foot to the floor, and then lifted the right one, cradling the heel in his palm while the other hand slid higher up the ankle, under the pant leg, caressing the calf. The hair was so soft, the muscle lean. He wanted more than just the feet - he wanted to kiss all the way up that leg, over every inch of skin until he’d reached that softly gasping mouth.

"Crowley," he murmured. "It's all right. I've got you."

Then the healing kisses began to fall again, starting on the toes and trickling downward, in a far less timid fashion. There were even whispers of tongue along the arches, a sprinkle of teeth around the toes.

“You’ve got me alright…” Crowley whimpered. His mouth tasted of copper, as he’d bitten his lips in his effort to keep quiet. 

And Aziraphale just kept going, touching even more of him, and Crowley wanted to spread his legs and plunge a hand into his pants. 

Or better yet, yank the angel’s head close and use his blessed mouth. 

Or just turn around, completely naked like a beast in heat, and let Aziraphale devour him. 

Finally, both feet were healed, and the demon was about to lose his mind.

“If you’re finished," he rasped. "I should be going. Gotta catch some sleep. My feet feel a lot better.”

Even if there was no reason for him to keep his mouth on Crowley's feet, or his hands on Crowley's leg, Aziraphale felt no desire to stop. 

He saw that face, heard that whimpering, and was responding to it on a primal level. Tugging his bowtie loose quickly, the angel slid between those beautiful, lanky legs. 

"Not yet." His face, usually so cherub-like, was flushed, the eyelids lowered halfway. "Take your jacket off and stay a little longer, won't you...?" 

Manicured, elegant hands were sliding up the inner thighs, heading right for that trouser tent.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Crowley squeaked.

"Taking care of you." Both hands met between the demon's legs, cupping the tent and massaging it. Heavens, he'd wanted to try this for centuries, to know the shape of Crowley's Effort. The angel leaned in, nuzzling that bulge, hands grasping that slender waist. Mm... it smelled nice down here. "Crowley," he murmured. "Will you let me? Please..."

Crowley was panicking now, and the taste of terror-pleasure was alarmingly addictive. But Aziraphale’s behavior was just as alarming: he was being _seductive_ ,and it was new and confusing. 

Something in the back of the demon’s mind, a little voice unaffected by the emotional roller-coaster, was supplying an explanation, but Crowley was too preoccupied to listen to it. 

He just sensed that despite yearning for it for millennia, this was _wrong_.

The demon sucked in air with a loud hiss, his entire body tensing up. For a moment, he considered turning into a snake and getting the Hell out of the bookshop. 

Then, the voice of reason finally made it through the haze and everything became clear. The demon’s hands seized the angel’s and held them down. 

“No! I mean- Angel, _Aziraphale_ \- Listen. You don’t _have to_." That was it. The world came into focus. “You don’t have to do this just to pay me back or something,” Crowley explained, his voice soft. “You owe me nothing, absolutely nothing. You’ve saved me just as many times and I don’t come after you to earn some reward. Especially not this. I-” He swallowed hard. Maybe it was alright to admit half the truth. “It’s not like I don’t want it, but forcing you into something that _you_ don’t want would be below even a demon’s standards. If you’d like to do anything to me, or with me, I want to be sure that you’ll have no regrets. That you won’t feel used afterwards.” He cupped the angel’s face, barely touching the warm skin. 

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself for my sake.”

Aziraphale jolted when he was so abruptly stopped, and he felt sick. Had he misread the situation? Was it not a mutual feeling? 

Was he... was he not good enough, attractive enough, desirable enough to do this? For a moment, he looked as though he might burst into tears. 

Ah, but then he listened and understood, and he held that palm to his face. 

"'Don't hurt yourself for my sake,' is it? Who said this was... honestly, you're so _stupid_." His lower lip was trembling, and one tear slid down over his cheek. "So stupid and so very kind. Always there for me, looking out for me, and I've been content to just _take_. Please, Crowley, let me give something back. Let me show you that I do care about you, so very much, and how grateful I am to know you and have you in my life. Let me show you... " 

_How I feel, because the right words won't come._

Crowley decided to be the better ethereal being and let the comment slide. He wasn’t entirely sure what Aziraphale was trying to say but if he concentrated, he could pick up the scent of lust around the angel, so-

“Come here.” Crowley leaned back and tugged Aziraphale up, until the angel was straddling his thighs. “Okay - Look me in the eye and tell me that you _want_ this to happen. I need to be perfectly sure that you offer it freely. And, um, tell me how far you would like to take this.” He could feel his cheeks burning. 

“For the record, sex isn’t the only way to show someone that you care but, uh, I’m not going to decline it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’ve made me so bloody hard.”

A little "oh!" slipped out when he was pulled into Crowley's lap, and blood rushed into his face. However, it... well, it wasn't like he hated it. 

He was close enough to feel the other's heat, to smell his cologne. 

Gulping, the angel fumbled for the words (Crowley's gaze could be _intense_ sometimes) and then made eye contact. 

"I know that sexual favors aren't the only way to show what I feel for you, but... well, you were responding to me and it, um..." He cleared his throat. "Well, it got me excited. I... I want this. Really, I do. Maybe not going all the way, as the young humans say, but I'd like us to enjoy each other. And I would like you to- to finish in my mouth." Aziraphale was now very pink.

 _Here we are then,_ Crowley thought dimly. _Two responsible more-or-less celestial beings, blushing like newlyweds. We are both ridiculous_.

But this was part of the fun, right? This awkward, uncertain dance, so silly and yet so sweet, so right.

He wound his arms around the angel, holding him tight, pressing his face against Aziraphale’s open collar and kissing his neck. “I see,” he whispered. “It’s okay then. I’d like that very much.” He looked up and smirked. “How about you refill the glasses while I get out of my pants? Then you can have as much of me as you desire.”

"Nm..." Oh, dear. Kisses to the neck appeared to stir his body the same way kisses to the feet stirred Crowley's. Suddenly, his clothes felt much too restrictive. _More._ The whisper of that word drifted from his heart and his skin. More, more.

Shaking his head briefly, the angel smiled and nodded, then shuffled off to pour them both another round of whiskey. Should he undress as well? _Oh, goodness._ He wasn't like Crowley, with his slender waist and long legs and overall lithe and elegant frame. He was... well, rather the opposite, worn and outdated like an old woman's couch, and notably chunky (especially around the middle). No, best not go around showing that off.

Unaware of the angel’s plight, Crowley first shrugged off his jacket, then pushed the suspenders off, opened his finely tailored trousers and shimmied out of them, pushing the underwear down as well. After a moment of hesitation, he kicked them away and then he arranged himself into a comfortable sprawl, legs apart enough to look alluring but not desperate. Since he was still wearing his shirt and tie, he looked like sin personified; his hair neatly slicked back, dressed impeccably down to the waist but below that, there was nothing but naked skin and most prominently, an erection peeking out from under his shirt. 

He then flung his arms over the back of the couch and flashed a lopsided grin to Aziraphale, raising one brow. 

“So… Is this to your liking, angel?”

Aziraphale's eyes went wide when he caught sight of that sinful display.

That was- That was- That was _unfair_ , is what that was. 

That sent half the blood in his corporation straight to his cock. 

That made him suddenly understand Crowley's need for one-syllable grunts.

His fingers had curled tightly around the whiskey glasses, nearly cracking the crystal. Crossing over, the angel handed one glass to his friend and then used his free hand to unfasten the first few buttons on his shirt and all of them on his waistcoat... ah, that was better. More comfortable, a little more exposed. 

Aziraphale climbed right back into that lap, straddling the hips. Their noses brushed. "Can I...?" he breathed.

“Any time you want,” Crowley whispered. His eyes glowed subtly in the gloom as he leaned closer and touched his lips to Aziraphale’s. “As much as you want. In any way you want.” His hands slipped up the angel’s thighs, squeezing rhythmically until they reached the plump rear where they began to knead. “Dinner is served,” the demon purred. “Enjoy it.”

"And look, it's my favorite," the angel crooned back. "How thoughtful of you." 

Finally, _finally_ , he could stop staring at the demon's mouth and taste it instead. And he did. Repeatedly. While also murmuring words of praise. Greedy fingers tugged at the shirt buttons, pushing the fabric aside to grope the chest beneath it. That neat, slicked-back red hair was going to be a wreck by the time Aziraphale finished with it.

Crowley kissed back, laughing breathlessly as the angel proceeded to peel him like a forbidden fruit. He wasn’t counting on being naked for the blowjob, but he wasn’t protesting. 

“A word of warning though,” he mentioned. “I’m probably making a mess of your bespoke trousers. ‘Cause, y’know, you’re wiggling in my lap.” 

Then he slapped both hands over Aziraphale’s backside and grabbed the soft flesh firmly. “This ass is a gift from above and I-” Wait, Aziraphale wanted to take it slow. “Um, I hope that one day, I’ll get to see it in all its angelic glory.” He snickered, gazing fondly at Aziraphale. “It would’ve been a right shame if those German bastards had shot you. Waste of a gorgeous corporation.”

"Quite all right, I'll clean it later-" Reports may have exaggerated when they stated that Aziraphale _squeaked_ when his backside was slapped and kneaded like bread dough. 

In his countless centuries of existence, not a soul had handled his corporation in such a way. His first instinct was to be offended (because of the scandalous nature), and his second was to be unbearably aroused (because it was Crowley doing the scandalizing). _Good lord._ If his cock wasn't hard before, it surely was now.

"One day," he promised, kissing along the demon's neck and biting at the ear. "One day, I'll show you, and you can do whatever you like with it." 

_What_ in God's name was he even saying? No matter. He was too far gone to care.

“Ngk,” Crowley commented, similarly excited about the future. “I-I’m looking forward to that. Erm, not to spoil the mood, but you kinda offered to suck me off? If we keep this up, you won’t have to, if you follow me. Like, if you changed your mind, that’s fine, I just- thought I might point that out.”

"Oh? _Oh!_ Oh, yes, right." Good gracious, the angel got so swept up in things that he'd forgotten the end goal.... though it was undeniably flattering to know that the simple act of grinding in Crowley's lap would be enough to finish him. 

Clearing his throat, Aziraphale slid back and then knelt down, settling between those slender thighs to observe his partner's Effort. It was a handsome cock, rising from a thatch of fiery curls, rosy tip peeking from delicate foreskin. A gourmet dessert if ever there was one. He pressed a kiss to the tip. "How shall I... er, that is, how do you like it done?"

“I’m fairly sure that if it’s you doing it, I’d come even if you just lick it a few times,” Crowley admitted, shuddering from the pleasure that raced through his guts. “As you see fit, angel. Maybe- maybe when- if- you decide to do it again, I’ll have the mind to explain the finer points, but, really, go ahead.” He gestured towards his erection, and then spread his thighs a bit further and undid the rest of his shirt buttons. 

“Go as fast or slow as you like, and I’ll warn you if I’m close… then you can decide how you want to finish it.” He licked his lips. “You look so good like this. Have you- tried this before?”

"Once or twice." The sly look from under those dainty lashes belied the answer. 

Aziraphale did have an oral fascination, after all, and it wasn't limited to food. "You look quite scrummy from down here, yourself." 

His partner was riding a hair trigger, it seemed, so the angel knew he had to take it slow. At first. Kissing the glans once more, he rolled his tongue around it a few times and then devoted his attention to the shaft, making sure his teeth stayed safely tucked behind his lips. "Nm..." The smell here was musky and earthy, the taste not unlike cloves and cinnamon.

Crowley gasped and swiftly undid the remaining buttons, exposing his entire front to the angel's gaze. His hand briefly passed over his chest, fingertips rolling a nipple, then he flung his arms over the sofa’s back. His lithe body undulated with every deep breath, much like a snake and he let his head roll back, putting his throat on display. 

“Oh angel…!” The demon’s voice was quiet and strained. “That’s so good. Oh, you spoil me, you naughty thing. Grab the base, that’ll keep me from coming too soon.”

"Mhm." Fingers, blunt but nimble, grasped the base as instructed while the tongue coated the shaft in saliva. He saw that delectable upper half become available, the beautiful throat in full view, and his temperature spiked. If Crowley had any trouble sensing his lust before, it would be impossible to miss now. 

The things he wanted to do to that neck... His free hand immediately sought it out, running up the stomach, over one nipple and then the other; then, the fingers curled lightly around one side in a vaguely possessive manner, thumb resting on the Adam's apple.

Crowley let him. His throat bobbed under Aziraphale’s hand as the demon sucked in a shuddering breath; his cock twitched in the angel’s grasp. He dreamed of this before, too - yielding to his celestial lover, be at his mercy, allow himself to be possessed, even used. No one has ever owned the Serpent of Eden, but he was ready to curl up at this one angel’s feet and beg for a punishment for his transgressions, for the quenching of his thirst, for divine absolution. 

And at the same time, he wanted to possess Aziraphale, bend him to his will, torture him in the sweetest way possible, to see this powerful creature willingly surrender to him and cry out in pleasure.

Also, the angel was being quite cheeky for someone on their knees, so Crowley took the hand lingering over his throat, looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, and sucked an angelic finger into his mouth.

The bobbing throat and the pulse beating rapidly under Aziraphale's fingertips was proof of Crowley's interest, and also of his existence. This was not a late-night fantasy, nor a drunken daydream- this was real, as real as the salty droplets on his tongue.

Then a mouth was around his middle finger, hot and wet, and he shuddered. "Nmff...!" Oh, that was having far more of an effect on him than it should. It was just his _finger_ , for Heaven's sake, and yet his entire lower body throbbed. Maintaining that eye contact, the angel slid his mouth around Crowley and swallowed it halfway down.

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed between licks. “Yessss, just like that, angel. Your mouth is so hot.” His hips twitched and his teeth sank briefly into the pad of Aziraphale’s thumb, though they didn't do any damage. 

“Shit, angel- I want to say things to you that’d probably make you blush but- We need to talk that over ‘cause I don’t want you to throw me out the window if I cross the line… But if you stop sucking my dick, I’ll go mad, so- keep going.”

There were downsides to loving someone to this extent - the constant yearning, the devastating anguish of seeing them offended, and not being able to discuss boundaries with them in the middle of unexpected blowjobs. Crowley fervently hoped that this won’t be a one-time occurrence, because _Satan, did he have plans_. 

Aziraphale simply smiled and let the words wash over him. It was the demon's way of releasing his anxieties, and also his way of showing that he cared. 

And he _did_ care- not just as part of the Arrangement or for his own gain, but simply because he'd wanted to do something thoughtful for the angel. That fact had broadsided him like a runaway carriage, the sheer weight of it now bringing the Principality to his knees, swallowing down his friend's precum like honey. 

Demons couldn't love, and angels couldn't love this selfishly, and yet all Aziraphale could think of in this moment was Crowley. He wanted Crowley to release, to unravel in his mouth. His head bobbed faster, sinking lower on the shaft, saliva dribbling down.

Fingers wound themselves into his hair, not demanding, not controlling, simply there, gently massaging his scalp. Crowley’s eyes glowed in the low light; his mouth was open, gasping for air, long forked tongue flicking out, maybe to taste the air… And from his lips the word _angel_ spilled like a prayer. He tried to keep his hips still, but they still shifted subtly, as the pace quickened.

“Ffffuck…!” Crowley groaned. His fingers tightened in Aziraphale’s hair for a moment before he slammed them down on the couch, afraid of hurting his angel. “Oh fuck, angel, I’m close, I’m so close…! I- Oh shit, please, _please_ …!”

Without missing a beat, Aziraphale used his free hand to redirect one of Crowley's right back onto his head. He needed that touch, needed to feel wanted, needed to be anchored into this reality. Crowley might pull his hair, he might, and the angel would welcome it. 

The swelling in his mouth was growing, pulsing, and he felt himself responding in kind. All of him was hazy, drunk on love and pheromones, and so, so greedy. All of it, all of it, _give it-!_

Unable to contain himself, the angel sucked hard and pushed his face down until his nose was buried in those fiery curls.

“ _Satan!_ ” Crowley swore and lost control over himself, grabbing Aziraphale’s head to keep where it was. His hips jerked. “Angel-!” Another twitch. “ _Aziraphale_!” And he was coming, shooting his load right down the angel’s throat, and it was filthy, and vile, and better than anything else he ever experienced. For several seconds, he could think of nothing else.

“Oh, shit!” His cock was still twitching subtly, but Crowley quickly released that downy hair. “So sorry, I couldn’t help myself, it was so fucking _hot_ … Are you okay, angel? Please say you’re okay!”

Beyond the concern, he was an emotional mess, so humbled and overjoyed that he was likely going to cry or laugh. But, first things first: if Aziraphale disapproved in any way, he was ready to beg for forgiveness, if only to preserve the chance of a repeat performance. 

The grip in his hair sent a shiver down the angel's spine that very nearly made him climax, untouched, in his trousers. "Nmh!" Ravenous thing that he was, Aziraphale slurped down every drop of that payload, body curling inward. This was obscene and inappropriate and against everything he knew to be right, and he instantly wanted to do it again. 

When the demon stopped shaking and swearing, the angel gradually slid his head back and very reluctantly removed Crowley from his mouth with a soft 'pop'. "Quite all right, dear." His voice was dreamy, expression utterly lewd with its lusty eyes and swollen, wet lips. "Yes, quite all right, indeed..."

Crowley decided to laugh for a change. He grinned, marveling at the alluring sight. "You look like a professional debaucher," he purred. "It's very becoming." 

He leaned forward, cradling the angel's face in his hands. "Thank you so much, I feel a lot better. Now… How about you?" His thumb swept over Aziraphale’s lower lip, then along the pulsing vein on the angel's neck. "You haven't come yet, have you? Would you like my help with that? I don't doubt that you could handle it yourself, but I'd love to watch you come undone."

The very tip of Aziraphale's tongue darted over his bottom lip, following the same path as Crowley's thumb. He was so at ease right then, having finally found a method to demonstrate his convoluted feelings. 

_Let me do something thoughtful for you. Let me care for you. Let me love you._

Then he blinked at the offer, gaze becoming more focused. Crowley wanted to do something in return? No, no, that wasn't... well... hm. Maybe just a little? "I, um... That is, I'd prefer to touch myself this time, but you could... help me along, maybe? Those kisses to my neck, for example, were quite exciting."

“Oh, I think I can do that,” Crowley breathed. “Come, sit on the couch, be comfortable. Can I watch? If you prefer I didn’t, I can arrange that. But, y’know… Since it looks like I underestimated how much you love _everything_ life can offer to the distinguished gentleman, I wouldn’t put past you to find quite some delight in being observed.” The notion of seeing Aziraphale during such an intimate act nearly made him hard again.

 _Did_ he want Crowley to watch him? Frankly, Aziraphale wanted the demon to tear his clothes off and have him in whichever way Crowley saw fit, but that was- no, that was too much, too quickly. His heart wouldn't be able to take it. He sat on the loveseat, looking notably more self-conscious as he unfastened his tented trousers. "Are you... Are you certain you'd want to watch, my dear? I'm not much to look at, I fear."

One of Crowley’s brows climbed up almost to his hairline. “What-? What do you even mean by that, you’re gorgeous-” He clapped his mouth shut. Okay, that was probably too fast. “I mean, you’re handsome by human standards, and then you’re an angel to boot. And didn’t I mention earlier that I want a piece of your ass? Listen, I… I enjoy watching other people have sex. I don’t make a habit of spying on anyone, mind you, but, uh - bottom line is, most people are beautiful when they reach their peak. So _yes_ , angel, I want to watch you.” 

And I also want to return the favor and suck you dry, then grab your sinful hips and pound your luscious ass and keep going until you’re cross-eyed with pleasure. But even I know that’s too fast. I can wait until you’re ready. 

The angel was slightly tickled by the image of Crowley peeping on copulating humans, but that was overshadowed by the praise being lavished on him. So Crowley did find him attractive? It wasn't just pity, or loneliness, or the lack of anything better to do? "... all right, dear. I'll try to believe you." Pants open, Aziraphale miracled a bit of oil into his palm and took himself in hand, stroking slowly. "Do come over here, it's not nearly as pleasant without you touching me."

Crowley was happy to scoot closer, arranging his long limbs artfully over the place. He curled one arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and leaned closer, nuzzling around the angel’s collar. He tried to keep at least one eye on that lovely cock, because it was a work of art, matching Aziraphale’s proportions and disposition. 

So, uh, the angel really, _really_ liked when his old adversary was touching him? Oh Satan, that was a boost to Crowley’s ego - and his hopes, too. Maybe Aziraphale was a bit attracted to him. Maybe he loved the demon a little more than just a friend. Hope was free, after all, and there was plenty at Crowley’s disposal. 

“Show me how you like it,” he murmured into the angel’s ear. “Unless you’re a deprived creature like me and would like to just get over it quickly.” He pressed a kiss just below the aforementioned ear.

When Crowley moved in closer, nuzzling in, bringing his scent and heat nearer, the tension in Aziraphale's mouth and lower back faded. That was better. That was so much better. As his hand moved, a shell-pink glans revealed itself, weeping pearly tears. A little shimmer of heat went down the side of his neck when his ear was teased, and his free hand rested on the demon's bare thigh. 

"I am deprived," he murmured hotly. "And depraved. I could never see you without imagining how you might look under the clothing... I never thought I'd get to see you, so marvelous, like a Degas painting."

 _But Degas’ most famous paintings depict women_ , Crowley wanted to argue but all that left him was his characteristic noise of distress.

He could feel his face heating up. “Thank you?” he managed to say, voice a little thinner than normal. “That’s… that’s really sweet. Angel, I- I want to see you like this again. I want to touch you, I want to make love to you all night long. Please say that one day I’ll be able to.” His fingers began working the buttons of the angel’s shirt open. 

“Please tell me that the wait will be worth it.” he surged forward and his sharp teeth nipped at Aziraphale’s pale throat. “I’ll wait until the end of time but please…!”

Aziraphale allowed his clothing to be opened, safe in the knowledge that Crowley also found beauty in him, and cried out softly when he was bitten. It stung, a little, but it also made him lean into the demon's mouth and stroke himself faster. Everything was getting foggy again. "Again," he gasped, scrabbling to hold that crimson head in place. "Again, bite me again. Someday, someday we can know each other fully, I swear it, so please, bite me and mark me as yours, dearest, _please_ -"

The wave of arousal those words sent crashing over Crowley’s body made the demon wince. The only reason he wasn’t getting hard again was that he decided not to - he wanted to concentrate on Aziraphale. So he wrenched the angel’s collar open and pressed his open mouth over a pulsing vein, teeth sinking in, and then he sucked hard to draw the blood to the surface and mar the skin. If the angel wanted to be marked, so be it. For a moment, Crowley thought about another mark, a more permanent one, a demonic brand seared into angelic flesh, marking Aziraphale as his, entirely his… But he couldn’t, not yet. Maybe not ever, for the angel was his own and God’s, and Crowley had no claim over him unless his beloved angel bowed to him in sweet servitude from his free will. 

But that didn’t stop him from saying otherwise. 

“You’re _mine_ , he growled, his fingers curling into Aziraphale’s hair. “Mine alone, nobody else’s, and I’m yours, and we will join our bodies one day. You’ll be beneath me, writhing, begging to me, and I will give you everything you want…!”

The shudder that rolled over him started at the crown of his head and ended in the soles of his feet. It felt so _wrong_ to ask a demon to mark him, to claim him, to sully the temple of his body, and yet Aziraphale could only beg the demon do it again, harder, _more_. "Yes," he panted. "Yours, only yours, oh, oh yes...!" 

Leaning his head back, Aziraphale cried out helplessly, one hand in his companion's hair and the other furiously pumping his cock, hips bucking up to rut into his fist. Strings of seed burst out and laced his knuckles, some falling on the floor.

Crowley watched, mouth open, long tongue lolling. Aziraphale had a gorgeous orgasm face, and even his seed smelled delicious. Crowley wanted to lick off every single drop from those elegant hands. 

“What hopeless fools we are...” he whispered instead. “Are you all right, angel?” He didn’t let go of Aziraphale, gently nuzzling his temple and squeezing his shoulder. 

"Tip-top, my dear." The angel's voice was light and airy, his brain swimming in a happy endorphin cloud. "Just tickety-boo." Everything was perfect, everything made sense. Crowley was near him, sharing personal space with him. Crowley's voice was whispering in his ear. Crowley's mark was on his skin, throbbing softly. Head lolling to the side, Aziraphale tipped the demon's chin up to share another lingering kiss, guileless and tender.

The demon wanted to ask something, along the lines of ‘Why did we do this? Why aren’t you questioning all the things I’ve said? Do you love me, more than a friend?’ but as soon as he opened his mouth, his throat closed up. He couldn’t ask, because what if the answer was no? It had been made glaringly clear that, contrary to Crowley's beliefs, Aziraphale was no stranger to pleasure, so maybe everything that transpired was really just a friendly gesture. 

Crowley felt cold, a little numb, and somewhat tired. Curling up under the covers and stop thinking sounded like a splendid idea. 

“I guess…” he began haltingly. “I should get dressed and head home. You need your rest, too.”

"Mm? Oh... oh." The haziness in the angel's eyes was gradually fading, bringing him back down into reality. He was in his bookshop, sticky with cum, cuddled up to a half-naked demon. 

If Gabriel or Uriel happened to pay a visit, they'd both be up Shit Creek without a paddle, do not pass Go, do not collect a single pound. 

"Er... yes, I... I suppose you should?" It really was more of a question than he'd intended. Aziraphale wanted Crowley to stay the night. Aziraphale wanted Crowley's cock in his mouth again. Clearing his throat, he miracled the mess off his fingers and then tucked himself back into his trousers.

Crowley stood and began to hunt down his clothes, slowly picking them up and replacing them, like a human would. He was torn between satisfaction and dejection, which was a wholly unfamiliar state to be in, and he didn’t like it. 

He shrugged his jacket on and picked up his shades that miraculously remained intact while they rolled around on the couch. Then, he stood there, unsure and longing. He barely dared to look at Aziraphale. 

“See you around?” he asked shyly, shuffling on his feet.

Aziraphale himself quickly returned himself to a proper state, muscle memory even allowing him to fit his bowtie around his neck without a mirror, before rising. He, too, appeared quite uncertain of what to do now. There were so many questions, with no readily available answers. 

Well, except for one. 

"Of course, dear boy," the angel replied, smiling, voice warm, as he gently pressed a kiss to the demon's cheekbone. "You're always welcome here, for drinks and conversation and... anything else you might have a taste for." His eyes twinkled briefly, and he tugged his collar down just enough to show the reddish bloom on his neck. "This will fade, after all. I'll be needing a new one soon."

Crowley threw his head back and laughed. Somehow, the remark managed to soothe all his worries. Aziraphale still wanted him back, with no regrets. Even if he didn't love the demon, he wasn't against sharing his bed. The bond between them was still intact, and their progression to the bedroom wasn't going to spoil their friendship. And while that wasn’t _everything_ Crowley wanted, it was enough.

"Angel," he quipped, with a tip of his hat. "You are far more dangerous than any Nazi spy."

Aziraphale simply beamed.


End file.
